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But why great? Why should that matter? In an hour he’d leave, never see her again. And, anyway, she’d said she was a surgeon. That probably explained the absence of rings. She wasn’t wearing any kind of jewelry at all. And she should—she should wear sapphires, like her eyes—and nothing else, with just his leg thrown over hers for cover...
What was wrong with him? He didn’t pursue women. Never. Not even in his mind. In fact, he’d turned dodging them into an art. So what was he doing, standing there like a hormone-ridden adolescent, panting over this—this...vision?
Vision? The woman wasn’t even beautiful!
No, just the answer to his every taste and fantasy.
“So, will you tell me? Or will you just stand there and hyperventilate?” The vision was also all but laughing her head off at his eagerness. He should mind. He didn’t.
He gazed into her disarming eyes and something warm and soft spread in his gut. Let her make fun of him if it would keep them radiating that wicked innocence, make that exquisite head tilt, letting that burnished carmine hair riot over those full...
That’s it. He’d gone over the edge. Right into mental breakdown.
He’d thought he’d been suffering from clinical depression. But no depression manifested as uncontrollable lust and a desire to make a fool of oneself. Maybe manic depression?
Oh, whatever. It was worth it. She was worth it.
“I am far from back to normal.” He pitched his voice lower, throwing himself into this weirdness of wanting to be open, needing to communicate. “And right now I’m wiped out. I forgot how exhausting CPR can be. If it wasn’t for you taking over ventilation, I think I would have passed out. So I could say that’s why I’m hyperventilating. But I won’t. It’s you. You leave me breathless.” He reached out, ran his thumb over the elegant line of her nose, tracing the soft freckles’ pattern. She let him, her eyes turning turquoise with... equal eagerness?
“And you’ll leave me in suspense? Oh, the torture!” she gasped in perfect damsel-in-distress mode, her lament both intentionally silly and provocative.
Her teasing tickled his all but forgotten sense of humor. Madre de Dios, she was inviting his intimacy—and what an invitation. Heat rose inside him, took him over.
“Want to know what’s torture?” He placed his arms on both sides of her, bore down on her. Her fresh scent deluged him, mock-distressed lips just a breath away. She only deserved that he devour them. His eyes moved from her lips to her eyes, explicit with his desire. Then he voiced it. “Another minute without tasting you.”
Her eyes flickered, her lips opened on a tiny gasp. Then her breath rushed out, scorching his cheek. Would she back off?
She didn’t.
Purpose settled in her bewitching eyes. Those smoldering, exuberant, piercingly intelligent eyes. Eyes to drown gratefully in. But was that challenge, too? Conviction that he’d back off?
Not on her life. Or his. He was out of control, and loving it. Only one thing mattered: showing her how much she affected him. Taking this to the next level, right now. He wanted this to continue, wherever it took him. Wanted to connect with her, bind her somehow, so he’d find her again when he returned.
He sat down on the couch beside her, his hands reaching for her, stinging with the need to make contact with her. Her eyes shot wider before her lids fell, obscuring her reaction. Her head was a perfect fit cradled in his large palm, angled for his deliberate approach. Her heat rose to meet his, igniting him.
It had been too long. Forgotten—no, unknown. That blast of awareness, that gnawing anticipation. He was still alive after all.
His other hand dipped in the curve of her waist. Dios—that steep, firm curve. She gasped. He drew her closer until her breasts brushed his chest. Her every nerve seemed to tremble and buzz under hands that felt like electrodes of a monitor, tapping into her reactions, recording them. Turbulent, anxious, feverish. Or were those his sensations, doubling back up his awareness pathways?
His eyes scanned for signs of apprehension, rejection. None. She was nervous, yes, but willing, impatient for him. As he was for her, for those lips.
At the last second, he remembered. His lips landed on her velvet cheek instead. “You got enough of my resistant strains today,” he murmured against her flesh, burying his hunger in a trail all the way down to her pulse, settling there and feasting. Dios, this was hot, powerful—unprecedented. She lurched, panting as hard as he was. It was the same way with her. “Querida...”
“Cassandra, there you are!”
The voice drowned his whisper, snapped their surroundings back. He turned vexed eyes around, saw a brunette walking up to them.
“Thought you must be going crazy, looking for this. Apparently not.” The woman held up a handbag, but her eyes were on him. He almost groaned at the familiar combination of extreme female interest and curiosity. “A woman gave it to me. She’d seen us together earlier, said you’d left it behind in the cafeteria when you ran to the emergency. She’d also seen you...rushing here. Sorry I mucked it up a bit. I had to produce something to prove to the guards it’s yours.”
Vidal still heard the woman talking, yet made no sense of anything any more. The name ‘Cassandra’ was sinking into his mind like a megaton depth charge. Then it exploded.
Cassandra.
She was a Cassandra? As in Cassandra St James?
No. No. Dios, no! You can’t be this cruel.
Thoughts screeched, frantic for a way out, until something started burning inside his head.
It had to be someone else. The world was full of Cassandras.
Si, ciertamente. Full of Cassandras who were American, surgeons, redheads and in Madrid Airport at the same time Cassandra St James was.
And God didn’t have anything to do with any of this. He had only himself to blame. He had felt something cataclysmic brewing the moment he’d seen her. Felt it and disregarded it. Chose to mis-interpret it even.
But this—this was far worse than anything his morbid imagination could have conjured up.
It was her.
Arthur’s daughter. Arthur’s daughter.
Not only that but, if memory served, and it did, the most obnoxious creature who’d ever lived. And he’d been making a fool of himself over her. Far more than a fool. Totally out of line. Totally out of control.
Totally out of character.
Rewind and erase. That was the only way out. Forget his every thought and word and action since she’d turned around in that cafeteria with that pouting glower setting her unique face on passionate fire.
But time travel and rewriting history aside, he just had to resolve the flaming mess he’d made. The poor kid would go into shock the moment he told her who he was.
OK, fine, so she wasn’t a kid any more. And she’d never been ‘poor’. Or a kid, for that matter. The last time he’d seen her, she’d been a pink-haired holy terror. But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t be shocked now. She hadn’t seen him since that fateful day fourteen years ago when he’d come so close to...
Anyway, she’d probably forgotten he existed. Now, when she found out who exactly it was who’d been coming onto her, hot and heavy, who’d had his hands, his lips all over her—Dios, would she believe he hadn’t recognized her?
Breathe. Snap out of it. He couldn’t take refuge in shock any longer. His hands were still around her. Limp and nerveless but still there. He had to remove them, had to look at her some time. At last he did. And what he saw in her eyes...
Blood surged to his head, smearing his vision red.
No need to worry about confronting her with his identity.
She knew who he was.
She’d known all along!
* * *
This was better than anything she’d expected.
Vidal had gone from white to green to blue. And now purple.
He realized who she was. Realized she was way ahead of him in the recognition department. And he didn’t like it. Whoo boy, didn’t he ever.
Let him taste crushing embarrassment for a change.
Savor his humiliation later. Run and leave him stewing in it. “Oh, thanks, Ashley.” She stood up, making one last contact with his arm as he drew it away, and almost collapsed down again. Her hand trembled as she took the handbag, her other hand on Ashley’s arm more for support than for steering her away, too. It wasn’t that easy to distract Ashley from gaping at Vidal. She tried harder. “And I hope you kissed that lady for me. It would have been a nightmare if it had gotten lost. What would I have done without... identification?”
She wished she could turn to see her jibe’s effect. She couldn’t. She could barely keep upright, stop herself from collapsing in demented giggling. She didn’t need to look, though. Fury emanated from him, coming faster, hotter, bombarding her, sinking into her flesh, giving her a pretty good idea of how he was feeling.
“Someone would have reported it to airport security sooner or later,” Ashley said, resisting Cassandra’s efforts to move her, her eyes darting from her to Vidal, full of avid questions.
“All personnel of the Jet Hospital heading to Casablanca, Morocco, please, board now at boarding gate number 19.”
The announcement was a summons from the heavens. A perfect escape. “See? Even if they had, I probably wouldn’t have had time to collect it.”
“Of course you would have. They wouldn’t have taken off without you!” Ashley’s astonished glance all but asked about her walking away from Vidal without a glance. Vidal, the man whose lips had been buried in her neck just minutes ago. Lips that must have sucked dry all her energy and bravado, right along with her sanity.
She had to run. Now. “Let’s hurry. No reason to keep everyone waiting.”
She’d taken only one step when his voice broke over her. “Everyone can wait while you introduce me to your friend, don’t you think...Cassandra?”
His voice. Glacial. Hair-raising. Oh, lord. She hadn’t thought this through, hadn’t thought how this would end. How he’d retaliate. What if he got abusive?
Well, let him try. Then he’d really get exactly what was coming to him.
Puffing out her chest, she turned. And swayed. His eyes slammed into her again, not with instant desire and enveloping heat, but with an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. An incensed Vidal, suppressed violence crackling from his every pore, his formidable body a foot away from hers, trapping her against the wall more effectively than if he’d crushed her to it...
Intimidating. She hated to admit it, but he’d been intimidating then and he was far more so now. She hated, too, to find herself wanting to deny any knowledge of his identity. Oh, no. She’d see this through.
“Oh, we really don’t have time for that now, Vidal.”
He rose. The world shrank. “But we do, querida. As much time as we need.”
The change in him was spectacular. No passion now. No humanity. This man looked every atom the soulless narcissist she knew he was.
Those eyes will never feast on you again, make you soar.
Oh, stop it!
This was Vidal. He’d been faking it all. Handing her a line. And even if he hadn’t been, he was the only man in the species she’d condemned beyond redemption.
“Vidal?” That was Ashley, squeaking. “You’re Dr Santiago? Our mission leader?”
“No!”
“Yes.”
It took a heartbeat for his calm answer to Ashley to sink in. Then it hit. This time, when her heart stopped, it felt as if it would stop forever.
* * *
Vidal saw Cassandra’s reaction, felt it. He’d been counting her breaths, her blinks, the times she’d licked her lips—those lips... Focus. Focus. Not on what he’d thought, felt. On who—what she was. What she’d done. What she was thinking, feeling.
This was news to her. She hadn’t known he was her mission leader.
How come? Could it be...? Hmm.
Maybe this situation wasn’t a total disaster after all.
Before any of them could utter another word, the security guards entered the lounge, deeming Ashley had had enough time to deliver the bag and should leave.
Ashley shrugged her disappointment. “We’ll meet properly on board the Jet, Dr Santiago,” she said. “I’m your mission logistician, by the way.”
It took him a moment to notice Ashley’s extended hand. He shook it with a calm nod, calmness that was totally artificial, and saw her widen her eyes meaningfully into Cassandra’s shocked ones, giving the message, Later. Oh, yes, he’d love to be there “later,” when Cassandra explained this whole mess to her colleague.
The moment the door closed behind Ashley, Cassandra sat down again. Fell down, more like. Savage satisfaction frothed inside him. Good. She was as flabbergasted as he was. But she couldn’t be as enraged. All he wanted was to pull her up, haul her into his arms and crush her to his... No, no. He had to stop this, squash it. This was Arthur’s daughter. He couldn’t think of her that way. Off limits. She was off limits.
“Ha ha!”
His eyes narrowed on her. Saw shock receding, challenge replacing it. What now?
She rose to her feet again, hooked her handbag on her shoulder, tossed her magnificent hair. His body, his head tightened. Dammit. Damn her!
“Good one, Vidal. You almost had me there for a moment.”
“Which moment would that be? The one before or the one after Ashley set me straight? The one before, I definitely had you—”
She interrupted him, voice and eyes sharp, color high. “Let’s not play any more games. You know what I mean. Now if you’re satisfied...”
“Satisfied?” He’d never known frustration like this. Recognizing her should have killed his craving. His body shouldn’t still be on fire. This was the woman who’d once been a thorn in his side, who’d given him a harder time than his parents and jailers combined. Who’d clearly matured into a bona fide monster. “And I only realized there was a game going on five minutes ago.”
“Yeah, but you’re quick on the uptake, I’ll give you that. You tossed it right back at me. So, now we’re even and I have a plane to catch.”
She’d decided he was bluffing, was feeling all secure and relieved again.
That’s nice, he thought viciously. Now, to string her along or not to string her along? There was the score of those ten years she’d just knocked off his life expectancy.
He stepped into her path as she made to hurry away. She couldn’t stop in time. His body broke her momentum. He jerked back the moment she did. This was ridiculous, this current that constantly arced between them.
He should just let her go, get his bearings, stock up stamina for a confrontation, let her find him on the plane—take it from there.
No. They had to settle this now, in private. He couldn’t jeopardize the mission with personal vendettas. Drawing this out, to get back at her, was also not on.
There was another call to board the Jet. Her eyes turned from wary to anxious to angry in seconds.
“Vidal, get out of my way and go pick up someone else.”
“Is this any way to talk to an old friend and your new boss?”
“Since you’re neither, I’ll talk any way I please. You’ve had your joke, Vidal. Now move!”
